Long Knick knack Poems
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Ah at last camaraderie restored within the Oval Office!
Whew... now with president er... Chief
tenderloin hoof and mouth
knick knack paddywhack shah row'n nah
diseased Trumpen proletariat -
ever so..., (think huck Cain Abel) -
phloem with his tree men diss
anti semitic, biased,
cutthroat dagger type bull leaf
eager, ready and willing
to give Democrats endless good grief,
(a substantial Casanova chock full
of McDonald's fast food beef),
that wily rotten thief
(machiavellian hedonistic commander
with playboy special penchant
to lend wind blow dried hair courtesy queef),
his princely (Jared jarhead) reign no end,
(I reckon at least bajillion years) in sight,
yours truly breathes deep sigh of relief
the meritocratically jaded, general electorate,
who try bringing good things to life - reef
fur to moost recent impeachment acquittal
asthma tongue in cheek persiflage leitmotif.
All Joe king ass hide, I really dread
locked worst case forty sixth oaf with
absolute zero governmental effective cred,
which scariest horror story scenario...
unfathomable, incomprehensible, amenable
to coon sitter seriously joining grateful dead
volunteering bon voyage euthanasia led
by tried and true straight
and narrow grim reaper
me more than willing
to enlist underground
grassroots movement instead
populated courtesy dark shadows
lovely numbskulls and crossbones
think Zombies patrolling
devoid of talking head,
nonetheless not frightening compared
to heir apparent of Fred,
whose real estate Mogul prodigal son
on warpath to shred
life, liberty and pursuit of happiness
no matter *****sapiens
turning planet Earth,
wind and fire more'n politically blood red!
Faded photographs; a sentimental knick knack;
a much loved movie from so many years ago.
The times I chance on things like these, it takes me back.
The person that I used to be, I hardly know.
A much loved movie from so many years ago -
so out of style today, not like it used to seem.
The person that I used to be, I hardly know.
Time brought me swiftly to the Now. It seems a dream.
So out of style today, not like it used to seem -
that saved old pair of jeans; that certain special song.
Time brought me swiftly to the Now. It seems a dream,
I grow unsure if in this new world I belong.
That saved old pair of jeans; that certain special song;
the times I chance on things like these, they take me back.
I grow unsure if in this new world I belong.
Faded photographs; a sentimental knick knack!
Inspired by Paula Swanson's "Back to Back" Contest
It was the bronzed bell of a tinseled Ocean ship.
Until Destiny was scuttled by a fiery water witch.
In time, it became the haunting clang upon a reef.
A macabre knick-knack for cliques that ruled the deep.
They returned like blue birds, lonely for a blossoming.
To pay homage to every sailor overtaken by the sea.
They lay bouquets over shadowed grief...
as ghosts pared sweet memories into paper effigies.
Between shuffles of worn decks and ninety-proof lips.
They spin tales of crimson seas and horrible dorsal fins...
Torn hearts and sails, forever on a starboard list.
Drifting between a blue refrain and the salty mist.
In the graying vein of time, everything's forgotten.
The sweet angelic, the mundane, the eternally rotten.
Gravestones hoard salt within their granite cracks.
Tokens to a time when auroras bled into blackness.
One by one the crew will drift from this pearled realm.
Riding Tradewinds into the gilded scented heavens...
or become driftwood in the brackish heart of hell...
as the captain sways to the clang of his beloved water bell.
Remembrance for a choker in my deathbed
(Read-only version, a knick-knack too)
Precious finger, the witnessing one, Count
The forehead of a pious one, leaving a mark
Glowing along days and nights, prayer mats, in trying times
And prayers at dusk. Prayers valid till the sternest hairline dawn.
I touched his forehead, long past after the soul is gone.
He was the only one in my life, the only one of his capable kind.
He was the stubbornest hand holding me and mom inside an elevator
He was scrutinizing the sky to let me fly, however superficial it may sound.
I got wiser through all these years. I earned wisdom.
In turning grayer hair colors too, underneath the head scarf.
You will see my purple there, but I will label it as a purple heart.
Torn tears are in sheets of Facial tissues, also, in mourning mistakes, never to be known.
Just for my persuasive temptation, for the next one,
How many harms roads are there along the enlightenment highway in one full Cloverleaf, the old one?
Samuel Woodruff was a very old man, who once drummed for the army;
That marched to his rhythmic music, along with all fifers, playing hearty.
That was a lifetime ago, in dawn days so pink, golden, and richly green;
Like petal strewn time moving backward, to the premiere, pivotal scene.
Samuel never stopped playing drums, like mulberry heartbeats of sunset,
And played them after his daily walks; like the love you will never forget.
His fast friend, Comet, followed him, through fields of fascination flowers;
As he made up ditties to match the beat, of the flaming, futuristic hours.
Of faithful family, Sam had none, but for his fond, faddish sister, Pauline;
Who felt every fandangle pulse of summer, like allure on the silver screen.
Sam lived in the house of memories, of past and present changing places;
Where often rolling thunder was noted, like apricot roses, in cream vases.
Starlight snuck in windows, on a street that never seemed to say goodbye;
As sophisticated moon adored supper music, of redbirds, next to ebon sky.
Neighbor children noticed Sam's ditties, and often trailed behind to listen,
To each verse of nostalgia, featuring him. They loved all the fun repetition!
'Mad dog skullcaps' were running amok, when black-eyed Susans, sparkled;
And bright daffodils recalled Narcissus, when magenta butterflies, startled.
'Cupid's dart' flowers were hitting the mark, working magic in love potions;
While chrysanthemums spread the 'truth,' in vivid colors, of every emotion.
Samuel was heading home, one weekend day, and a huge crowd followed;
Comprised of both children and adults, like pretty colors, sunset swallowed.
The people sang along and clapped with Sam, to the song so easy to learn,
As Sam played his drum to the march, elated with sweet memory's return!
Many years have gone since then, and though Samuel's no longer around,
Folks still march while singing his song; as violets spring from the ground.
'This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb,
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.'
Professor: Setting is inducing trust that as a writer you are not volatile, nor giving lesser detailed thought about those knick knack, mundane also. can you give me an example Johny?
Johny: Certainly , can I ask the narrator type?
professor: say, camera setting...
Johny : genre?
professor : prose poem, light hearted or serious, both will do.
Johny : here you go....I bought floss and Hydrogen per oxide from the nearby pharmacy. I wanted to pick up my medicine too, but they were reluctant, altogether, seemingly so. I had to bypass.
professor : why so?
Johny: the only audible sound was a song..."when you say nothing at all."
Surely , verily a cranky setting! tired too!
As the counseling session was declaring, they begin as a parent asleep, raise them up asleep and send them to school asleep. Dreams ahoy!
If you ever espy a latitudinally
and longitudinally challenged
older yet shopping savvy woman,
(wedded to yours truly
for almost twenty six years),
who stands approximately
four feet and ten inches
a strong hunch that gal
stacks up as mine missus,
she dons costumed headwear
to avoid station identification,
whenever she steps out
into the public limelight
anywhere outside these four walls
of our one bedroom apartment
here within bucolic Schwenksville,
the town that town forgot,
and the decades could not improve,
where all the women good looking,
the men strong, and the children
wise to the ways of technology.
When this logophile
quite a few pounds lighter
ever since I first became acquainted
with unnamed aforementioned woman,
she adopted predilection to don apparel
allowing, enabling, and providing
modus operandi to present herself incognito.
Ofttimes said spouse of mine
upon returning from
grocery shopping spree
(ever price conscious of various
and sundry commestibles -
with a knick knack paddy whack
give this doggone husband
a plant based NON GMO bone),
she can rattle off the prices
of targeted items on her mental rolodex
how much food cost at:
ALDI, GIANT, LIDL, WEGMANS...
While scurrying to and fro
hither and yon,
a stranger might unexpectedly
pay a compliment to iterated getup,
which bobbin noggin makes her
easy to identify, when yours truly
tags along, (but despite
being considerably taller
by almost twelve inches),
these spindleshanks of one
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned, senseless
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer
find impossible mission
to keep pace with the wife.
I know my capabilities
But, you won't get it like that.
I know how I love
But, I can't love you like that.
You're just a dog
Trying to catch the cat.
I'll blow back your braids.
hand you your hat.
Beat you down with a bat.
F*** that!!
Knick, knack, patty wack.
Your loss,
Gotta pay the cost
to be the boss.
read between the lines,
dental floss.
You're tossed,
in the trash.
never needed your dusty ass.
Plus you wasn't dropping the cash
When the rents due.
Nigga f*** you.
F***ing up my face,
Scars on my heart.
Was blind from the start.
Walking around, head down.
Stuck in Demonic love
I was bound.
True Tee,
no, F****** around.
Hands hitting me.
shattering all personality.
My Reality.
Normally, never weak.
But, this nigga had a hold on me.
I had to let him go.
A CAPITAL, T.K.O.
Hell no.
You're no King.
"That's for sho"!
Tears singing.
"Soprano".
Should have left your ass.
A long time ago.
Washed up from the shore.
you, and those dirty whores.
Loving you is a battle.
"WAR"!!
Can't take it no more.
Got my finger on the Barrow.
Time to close the door.
Hurt me, to the core.
"That's not what I stand for".
Sent me through hell
and back again.
Hell and back again.
God, never left.
Always, my friend.
"While you're tryna pretend".
First aid kit,
ain't getting it.
Me and cowards don't mix.
Carryijg the shadow of a broken spirit.
My Father's, my witness.
You gone get the business.
What comes around, goes around.
"Quickness"!!
I'm just too damn good for this!!
On my bad side!!
" list".
Time for the album drop!!
Closed fist.
I don't need this !!
Called the quits...??
17 of 442
(bishwabinarabe bishwajon mohichhe)
The cosmos unison delighting cosmic a flight of a heartsong
The cosmos unison delighting cosmic a flight of a heartsong
O’er the land and the seas touching ashore, the horizon and greeneries of the forests, little one
Mundane pour awakened in a splendour of muse, an ode to divinity
Mundane plethora dancing in delight of serenity.
The new season greetings of spring, renewed joy, renewed festivity , (cite)
The yellow blossoming high, the yellowish tinge in dye, buzzing yellow among garden delight
Heard the murmur tapping the leaves , gathered up high
Chirping, among flowers in solitude , (nearby)
A gentle wind passes by , to be long in the deep blue lake of the tranquil midair
And the heartsong plays on and on, enchanting nature (to thrive)
The green and the drip. The strumming and the chirp, on a journey , very own, little by little
The riverbank and harbinger delight ashore, of words, knick knack a murmur
The passage to every corner stone, a song unsung,per new grain, new soak, new season.
The rainy season, season greetings of monsoon reign, renewed joy, renewed festivity (Cite)
The lightning in clouds and the thunderbolt with sounds so strong, sounds farther strong
The parable of a dancer dancing on the height of the apocalyptic ominous dancer delight.
The falls of nature, dancing with dancer cascades, falling in the fullest height. .
Lo and behold! The awakened menacing majestic solitude of the lonely palm tree, dancing with their slender array
Rousing a cacophony of calling the divine, on a morning bright!
And the breeze blowing in the dark night, a song to o carry through
The mayhem, the moonlit night struck on the darker side, a satire dancing down the horizon, on and on
The passage to every corner stone, a song unsung, per new grain, new soak, new season.
The autumn reign, season greetings of harvest among, renewed joy, renewed festivity (Cite)
Pristine, too pristine, much too pristine a lighthearted delight, garnishing too bright!
The world carass the welcome pathway of the Goddess Durga of the autumn to witness the season greeting, once again on site!
"This old man, he played one……”
There has never been a more joyful homeless guy.
We had brought turkey sandwiches to his alley.
He had a small ukulele, and he was loving his song.
“….with a knick knack, paddy whack, give a dog a bone…”
“He is really something!” An old lady said to me.
She took the sandwich after asking if it had mustard.
I had a mustard packet in my pocket, so I gave it to her.
“I need two,” she informed me.
The old man was singing more loudly now.
There were six of us church people here.
I looked at Jim’s face because he was near me.
He rolled his eyes which surprised me.
I thought he would appreciate the guy’s enthusiasm.
On the van ride back to the church the others discussed the singer.
“He was ridiculous!”
“I loved his enthusiasm,” I told them.
“He was not that great a singer,” someone said.
“I loved his enthusiasm!” I repeated, but a bit louder.
Realizing now that I liked the guy with the ukulele better than I liked them.